


The Body Divine

by draculard



Category: Richard II - Shakespeare
Genre: Character Study, Ficlet, Ghosts, Hauntings, Implied/Referenced Hacking of Limbs, Imprisonment, M/M, Pontefract Castle, Premonitions, Prophetic Dreams, Starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:20:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29649171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Two scenes of Henry and Richard, 1377 and 1400.
Relationships: Henry IV of England/Richard II of England
Kudos: 4





	The Body Divine

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr, I'm draculard there too

**16 July 1377**

The king is ten years old and freshly crowned when he pulls Henry aside and kisses him behind the tapestry. He is smaller than Henry, delicate and beautiful, his fingers long and cold and clasped in the material at Henry’s breast, pulling him closer. Later, when they examine each other, Henry learns what a king looks like beneath his clothes: the slender white legs, the nipples peaked with excitement, his small soft cock flushing pale pink and blossoming at Henry’s touch.

The word divine makes sense, he decides that day. He understands it entirely.

But that night he dreams of a ruin that looks like Pontefract Castle, a tumble of aged stones in a field of dead grass. He feels a ghost of a touch against his hand — against his lips — cupping the back of his neck like a lover.

Someone has died here, he senses, and he can’t determine whether this fills him with horror or elation. He looks around wildly, certain that if he only moves fast enough, he’ll see it — a spirit, a beautiful echo of someone marvelous, someone intelligent and charming. He can almost imagine the ghost’s lips quirking into a smile, his tongue flashing out wet and red, his eyes sparkling the way Richard’s do whenever Henry catches him making fun.

He wakes, heart pounding, eyes wide, cock hard.

* * *

**14 February 1400**

The stone walls are slick with ice, even inside the keep. The king is broad and tall — he wears his divinity well — but he removes his crown before he steps inside and kneels next to the wasted body on the floor.

“Richard,” he says.

Sunken eyes meet his, ringed by bruises. His skin, always delicate, appears almost translucent now, so that Henry almost believes he can see the bones of Richard’s face peeking through. A death’s head. Cracked lips, tongue pale and dry, the smell of decay rising from his skin as if he’s already dead. 

He is starving, Henry knows. He can count the king’s ribs, could almost cut his thumb if he caressed Richard’s hip. He wants to find out, wants to feel the sting of pain and watch blood well up from the wound; he resists the urge. Instead, he offers his hand palm down, waits for Richard to kiss it.

Richard’s hand is extended too, waiting for the same. He doesn’t back down. In the end, it is Henry’s fingers that curl around Richard’s, cold as the ice on the walls and bone-thin. He leans forward, knows Richard is too weak to meet him, presses his lips against Richard’s and tastes his fragility, tastes death.

Starvation becomes him, Henry thinks. He is more beautiful now than ever.

He smiles, as a king smiles down on a servant, and unsheathes his knife.


End file.
